


The Lottery Prequel

by Nightshade235



Category: The Lottery - Shirley Jackson
Genre: Anyways, Desperate times call for desperate measures, Gen, Just wrote this for a school assignment and thought I’d post it, Sick Character, Yeah sorry there’s literally only four characters and they are all OCs, how the lottery came to be, just a little, kinda proud ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26607058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightshade235/pseuds/Nightshade235
Summary: Me to a friend: It’s interesting. You’ve said The Lottery is barbaric and foolish, and I’ve painted it as a necessary evil.Me: To be fair it is barbaric and foolishMe: But it was all desperate son could think of to save his dying father.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	The Lottery Prequel

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is a prequel of The Lottery by Shirley Jackson I wrote for an assignment and am kind of proud of. Kudos to my other friend who unknowingly convinced me to post. Thanks for reading!
> 
> PS to understand this completely, you have to have just read The Lottery. Or just remember quite a few small details. Here’s the link if you want it!  
> https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1948/06/26/the-lottery

The Mayor was worried. Winter was upon the horizon, red and yellow leaves falling to the ground. The food stores were a finite resource, and the season’s crops had been decimated by early frosts. He would have no choice but to start rationing food if no miracle occurred.

—a few weeks later—

His eight year old son looked up at him. “Father, do you have anything to eat? I’m starved.” The Boy shivered. “It’s cold outside.”

The Mayor smiled tremulously and shook his head. “I’m sorry, my son. You’ve eaten your allotment for today. Here; you may have some of mine.”

His son grinned up at him, cheeks dimpled. “Thank you, father!” He said, scarfing down the food. He grabbed his coat and ran outside to play in the snow with his friends, waving goodbye at the Mayor. The Mayor smiled after him and walked upstairs, stomach grumbling. His sixteen year old son and heir caught him on the stairs. “Father, you cannot keep doing this. It’s already been a week. You’ll starve!” The young man whispered harshly.

The Mayor coughed slightly and shook his head. “You and your brother’s life come before any others in my eyes.” He said. “Never doubt a father’s love for his children.” The Mayor entered his room and closed the door. He donned his nightclothes before lying on the bed, trying to muffle his coughs.

On the other side of the door, the Heir frowned.

—a few days later—

Father had fainted.

The Heir was scared for him. The Elder had been called, and now all he could do was wait for the diagnosis. He worried at his fingernails, desperate for something to keep his hands occupied.

The Elder stepped out of his Father’s room, closing the door behind her. The Heir shot up out of his seat. “Well? How is he?” He demanded. “Will he survive the winter?” The Elder looked up at him and shook her head slowly. “Perhaps if we had more food to go around... but in order for most to live, a few must die. Such is the way of the world.”

The Heir slumped, despairing. How could he save his Father? He put his head in his hands, thinking desperately. The Elder left, departure going unnoticed in the wake of her announcement.

The Boy rounded the corner from where he had been listening. “Brother... is Father going to die because of me?” He said, tears dripping down his cheeks.

The Heir looked up, expression set in stone. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

—the next day—

The Heir stood on the plaza platform, the Boy beside him. He rang the bell, expression grave, and looked out over the gathered people. The Heir wavered, but the thought of his Father unable to get out of bed and the sight of the rail-thin people convinced him that what he was doing was necessary. He steeled himself.

He held a small black box in his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> The Lottery is barbaric and foolish, true.
> 
> But it was all a desperate son could think of to save his dying father.


End file.
